


He's Doing What?

by magicspacehole



Series: Bad Education [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Death Eaters, Drunkenness, Gen, Humor, Missing Scene, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-15 18:56:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28943322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magicspacehole/pseuds/magicspacehole
Summary: After two nights of drunken debauchery, Avery and Rosier use a rare moment of sobriety to contemplate their boss’s new career.Companion piece to Bad Education, chapter 3.
Series: Bad Education [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2122854
Comments: 3
Kudos: 29





	He's Doing What?

[August 27th, 1950, 3am-ish]

"Kids."

"I know."

" _Kids_ , Avery."

_"I know."_

Rosier kicked a stone as they meandered down the alleyway. "I feel like I should warn them or something."

“Warn who? Er- whom?”

“I don’t know! Dumbledore or Dippet or someone.”

Avery snorted. "Don't be an idiot. He wouldn't be very happy with you if he found out you even _considered_ saying something to Dumbledore."

"He's never happy with anything."

"True, but is it just me, or did he seem unusually..."

"Unusually what?"

"I don't know... _excited_ , I guess?"

Rosier thought for a moment. "Yeah, I think you're right. No wonder it felt so awkward in there." 

They walked slowly through the streets of London as their drunkenness wore off and they were left with patchy memories of the last two days and a strange feeling that they were supposed to be doing something.

"I just can't see him teaching children," Rosier said after a while.

"Nor can I," Avery agreed. "But maybe if it keeps him busy…”

“We won’t have to worry about taking over wizarding Britain?”

“Exactly. I mean, I’m all for power and pureblood strength and all the rest, but-”

“It’s a lot of fucking work.”

“It really is.”

There was a loud _crack_ and a man appeared out of nowhere and quite rudely pointed a wand at them.

“Jesus, Lestrange!” Avery yelled. “You’ve got to stop doing that. You’ll give me a heart attack.”

“That’s your problem, not mine,” Lestrange said, stowing his wand, lighting a cigarette, and glancing up and down the alley. “Where’s the boss?”

“Hogwarts,” said Rosier.

“Hogwarts? What the fuck’s he doing there?”

“Teaching,” Avery muttered.

Lestrange choked on the smoke in his mouth. “He’s doing _what?”_

“I know. We don’t understand it either.”

“What’s he teaching?”

“He didn’t say.”

“ _Who’s_ he teaching?”

“Children.”

Lestrange snorted. “That’ll end badly.”

Avery and Rosier nodded in agreement.

“Anyway,” he growled, eyeing a few Muggle women walking past on the main street, “that’s going to make this harder.”

“Make what harder?” Rosier asked while Avery ran to the corner to vomit again.

“I have information for him.”

“What information?”

“None of your business.”

Rosier shook his head. “We’re all on the same team here, you arse. Just tell me.”

Lestrange gave Rosier a long, calculating look before he said, “no. Boss’s ears only.”

“I thought the Lestranges loved to gossip.”

This was evidently the wrong thing to say, because Lestrange whipped out his wand dramatically and pointed it in Rosier’s face. “Say that again, you fucking prat.”

Rosier was not intimidated. “You think the boss would like it if you killed me?”

“I think he’d be annoyed… for about two seconds. Then replace you with someone equally as pathetic.”

Rosier frowned as he realized the likelihood of that scenario. “Piss off, Lestrange.”

Avery returned looking somewhat better. “So, what are you doing here, anyway?”

“He has ‘ _information_ ,’” Rosier told him, mocking Lestrange’s rough, matter-of-fact tone.

“That’s right, I have information. Because I actually _do_ what I’m supposed to do, and don’t waste my time getting pissed and wandering aimlessly around the city, propositioning Muggle women for sex and calling myself ‘a magical man.’”

“That happened once, you cunt,” Rosier spat.

The three of them made their way onto the main street, squinting their eyes at the bright lights on the Muggle cars they hated, and raising their eyebrows at the Muggle women they liked - though none of them would ever admit, on pain of death, to liking _anything_ related to non-wizards, of course. They were purebloods, after all.

"What do you think he's teaching?" Rosier asked them. 

Lestrange shrugged. "Defense, probably. I can't see him teaching something like Herbology or Divination." 

"Merlin," said Avery, "could you imagine him teaching Herbology?" 

It took them about five minutes to stop laughing long enough that they could continue walking. 

"Anyway, are we taking bets?” Avery asked.

Lestrange lit another cigarette and scanned the other side of the street for enemies. “Bets on what?”

“How long he’ll last.”

“How long who will last?”

“The boss. At Hogwarts.”

“Oh,” said Rosier, “he wouldn’t like that - us betting on his failing.”

“Ah, fuck him,” Lestrange spat.

Avery and Rosier both stopped and looked at Lestrange like he’d gone mad.

“What?”

Rosier glared at him. “Did you not just brag about being perfect and doing all your chores like a good little boy?”

“No, I said I do what I’m supposed to do. Which is what I do any time someone pays me.”

Avery made a choking noise. “He _pays_ you?”

Lestrange looked at them both for a moment, decided it wasn’t worth his time to bother answering, and said, “find me an owl.”

“What?”

“An owl. I need an owl.”

Rosier rolled his eyes. “Why did you not just send him the information when you received it?”

“I can’t send vital intelligence via owl, you idiot.”

“You just told us to find you one!”

“Yeah, so I can tell him that I _have_ vital intelligence. Then we can meet in person and I can disseminate-”

“You’re fucking mad,” Avery muttered. “A mad, paranoid, militaristic prat.”

Avery and Lestrange stared each other down for a bit while Rosier walked on, searching for the Leaky Cauldron. They had only wandered a few blocks away at most.

“Tom at the pub will have one,” Rosier told them when they finally caught up after deciding not to kill each other.

"One what?"

"Owl."

“Speaking of ‘Tom,’” Lestrange said quietly, “what the hell name is he using?”

“Who?”

“The boss.”

The three of them looked at each other.

Avery shook his head. “There is no possible way he would even consider-”

“He might,” Rosier argued, “if he wanted to… I don’t know, create a new persona?”

Lestrange snorted. “Oh yes, I can see how _that_ interview must have gone. ‘Good evening, Headmaster Dippet. Just so you know, I would prefer it if you called me-'”

“Would you shut your mouth?” Avery hissed. 

“ _Now_ who’s the paranoid one?” Lestrange shot back.

They made it back to the pub and Avery bargained with the bartender for use of his tiny, obnoxious owl while Lestrange scanned the room for enemies and Rosier collapsed onto a chair. There was something strangely comforting about the place, even if they were the only ones there and Tom wasn’t serving at all and it was darker than normal.

“You have a quill?” Lestrange asked suddenly, kicking Rosier in the shin to get his attention after he’d nodded off.

“Eh? Er- somewhere.” He searched his robes and produced a small, battered quill, some ink, and several rolls of parchment.

Lestrange stared at him through the smoke of his cigarette. “I said a quill, not a fucking library.”

“Do you want to send a letter or not?” He attempted to hand over the quill.

Lestrange shook his head. “You write it.”

“What? Why?”

“Because I said so.”

Rosier glared at him for a moment, then decided it wasn’t worth the fight he would inevitably lose to explain to Lestrange what an insufferable wanker he was. He dipped the quill in ink and scratched out a messy, short note, ignoring the small, nagging thought in the back of his mind that he was forgetting something.

_Lestrange is back. Wants a word. Says he has news. How's school?  
-R_

Avery came over with the owl, they tied the note to its leg, and it was gone.

“I am going _home_ ,” Avery declared, still looking a bit green.

“Me too,” said Rosier. “Two straight days is enough.”

Lestrange gave them a threatening look. “No. We wait for a reply.”

“Jesus Christ, Lestrange, I just want to go home. Wait for it yourself.”

“No.” He took his wand out and set it on the table. All three of them knew Lestrange had the advantage in almost every respect, and that it wasn’t worth fighting him.

The owl returned a half hour later, by which time Rosier had completely fallen asleep, Avery had vomited several more times and was now laying his head on the table, and Lestrange had begun sharpening a random dagger he apparently kept hidden somewhere.

When the owl showed up, Lestrange elbowed Rosier.

“Eh?’

“Open it,” he demanded.

“Why the fucking hell can’t you-”

“I never open letters.”

Avery made a weak grunting sound, the best he could manage to do to insult Lestrange’s paranoia. At least he’d made an attempt.

Half asleep, Rosier removed the tiny scroll from the owl’s leg, unfurled it, and read the message aloud.

 _“'Lestrange can wait. If you contact me here again, I will kill you both.'_ Well, that’s nice,” he mumbled, realizing _that_ was the thing he had forgotten. "Never, ever, _ever_ contact me while I'm at Hogwarts," the boss had said.

“I was never here,” Lestrange told them before walking out of the pub and disapparating.

Avery took the scroll from Rosier’s hand and read it again, shaking his head. He was about to crumple it up and throw it into the fireplace, but before he had a chance, it had turned a strange shade of green, rolled itself up, and morphed into several large, terrifying snakes.

“Shit!” he yelled as their boss’s message wrapped itself around his neck in the form of some sort of boa constrictor. “Guess- guess he- oh shit.” He could not breathe at that point, and his face had gone an unnatural shade of red.

Rosier’s chest was being crushed by a large python. “What- what did I tell y- you? Never hap- happy with anything.”

“Nope,” Avery coughed.


End file.
